Awaken
by Astr0creep
Summary: She wanted to scream. To tear things apart. To tear herself apart. She wanted to rip her nerve endings from her body. Anything to get rid of the sheer pain she was experiencing.


_Hey guys! This is my first fanfic since I was probably 15. So, I apologize if I'm a bit rusty. If you enjoy it, I can't guarantee a set upload schedule. I'm kind of writing as I go. Sorry if the format is a tad goofy, I'm writing from my phone atm because my computer is down. The name is also a place holder, I've had the story rolling around in my head for a bit, yet no name for it._

Obviously I don't own anything.

Chapter One: Awakening

She wanted to scream. To tear things apart. To tear herself apart. She wanted to rip her nerve endings from her body.  
Anything to get rid of the sheer pain she was experiencing. The only reprieve she got was when she was able to calm herself enough to inhale through her nose. The only relief from the intense pain came in the form of the faint scent of charred cedar, peppermint and... and apple, was it? Yes, definitely apple.  
She wanted to follow it. Chase it down and envelop herself in it. She would be content to die in this moment, so long as with her dying breath, she inhaled this scent one last time. She had to know just what it was that smelled so completely divine. As though the gods themselves created this scent just for her.  
With that thought, she woke, left breathless and confused.  
She had difficulty rationalizing the odd dream she had. She remembered nothing except for the fact that her entire body felt as though someone had set fire to it. Regardless, she made her way to the bathroom to start her daily routine.  
While her shower was warming, she spared a glance at her hands. Her nails were longer, more refined, and if she didn't know any better, she would say that the scars on her hands from years of potions work seemed lighter, almost non-existent. In fact, her hands seemed to be quite a bit paler than normal. Chocking it up to her body's response to such an odd dream, she didn't give it a second thought as she hopped in the shower.  
She immediately went for her conditioner, knowing full well that she would need to detangle her mane before she could even begin to think about shampooing. However, when she began to rub it through the length, she realized her hands seemed to go through it quite a bit easier than they typically would. Nevertheless, she continued on with her routine and allowed her conditioner to sit as she shaved her legs. However, she noticed that her legs were the same pale shade of her hands, and the heat of her shower had done nothing to return their typical sunkissed glow. At this point, she decided it would be best to head to the hospital wing after her shower, Madame Pomfrey was sure to know what was happening.  
When she finished her shower, she went to the mirror to begin the lengthy process that was taming her unruly hair. As she unwrapped her hair from her towel, she noticed that it was considerably lighter in color. It was nearly a butter blonde, rather than natural chestnut color she had previously. And instead of being matted to her head, it hung in soft, beachy waves.  
She let out an involuntary shriek. It was becoming difficult to breathe and she began seeing black spots. She quickly got dressed and made her way back to her bed before she passed out. After getting her breathing under control, she noticed a faint tapping at the window nearest her bed.  
She opened it and in flew the barn owl she had purchased for her parents this past summer so they could write her whenever they pleased. It carried, what seemed to be a sizable parchment and a small box.  
She was unprepared for the contents of the letter.

-Dearest Hermione,  
We wanted to begin by wishing you a happy 17th birthday. We love you so much and we are so proud of the woman you are becoming. However, we do have some news that we wish to share with you.  
You may have noticed some changes occurring regarding your looks, we wanted to explain the reasoning behind that.  
Your father and I haven't been entirely honest with you, regarding your childhood.  
We, ourselves, are members of the magical community. Your father is a pureblooded wizard and I come from a long line of Veela. Our family originally hailed from France, however when you were born, it was a tumultuous time in our country. Darker members of our community began hunting the children of Veela, believing they could harvest the Veela gene and use it in potions to extend their lifespans. For obvious reasons we had to relocate. To make sure that you were, without a doubt, safe; we took on the appearance and personality of muggles. Now that you are of age, the glamours we used have worn off and your true nature, your Veela, has been revealed.

We have included a small box of photos from our time in france, prior to our move, of you and our family. Also included is a matching set of rings. One is for you and the other is for your mate when you find them. Your first clue as to who your mate is will come to you as a scent. A scent so heavenly, it's as though the gods themselves tailored it to you.  
Please, love, forgive us for hiding this from you. You have to understand the threat and the fact that we did as we had to in order to protect our family.  
And finally, do not fret. We will be sending you more information regarding your heritage. Including family trees and books on your "condition" as I think you'll find the Hogwarts library to be lacking on familial information.  
Signed,  
Mum and dad.-

Hermione was entirely flabbergasted by the whole notion that her parents had lied about her identity for 17 years. She had a million thoughts running through her head.  
What do her real parents look like? Why did they subject her to years of torment? Years of people hurling insults at her, all "mudblood" this and "worthless filth" that? Are they still the same people? They did mention, afterall, that they took on the appearance AND personalities of muggles. Her father was a pureblood, and she can only assume, the mate of her Veela mother. She needed answers. And she needed them now. But how? She didn't even know her actual family name. If their personalities were fictitious, it can only be assumed that their names were as well.  
She needed the library. But, she wasn't ready to face her schoolmates. She wasn't ready to explain this to them when she didn't even have a partial grasp on it herse-  
And with that, a faint version of the scent from her dream... could it even be considered a dream? Her awakening, perhaps? Drew her out of her own head, and she knew that, no, she didn't need the library. She didn't need her needed whomever it was that smelled good enough to eat.

And she needed them soon.


End file.
